Like a blustering old man the
storm spews snow epitaphs of disregard
for the minions of man.
A light froth falls from the north
dry and distant making
sideburns, muttonchops on the bark
of barren tree trunks.
The windward side of the trees
applying downward weight of snow
tilting with dismay.
Yet, the day calls to the young
and through slamming back doors they run
sleds, and saucers in their bundled arms
ah... for my ole flexible flyer!
Categories:
muttonchops, adventure, childhood, happiness, nature
Form: Free verse